The Girl with the Sea Green Eyes
by headstand
Summary: Finnick vowed to always protect her. Now, he has to say good bye to the little girl with the rope who grew up to be the woman he loved.


**Author's note: so this wasn't particularly thought out. In fact, it wasn't thought out at all – I just started writing. This is Finnick and Annie before she enters the 70th Hunger Games. The italicised memories continue throughout.**

**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games.**

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><p><em>The first time I saw her, she was crying. It had been weeks since the accident – a fishing boat lost in a particularly vicious storm, killing four of the District's citizens – but the grief was still etched deep into her tear-stained face. She was only nine years old. <em>

_I asked her if she was alright, offered to fetch someone. The girl with the sea green eyes shook her head, told me there was no one left for me to get and apologised for seeming weak. I stayed with her until dusk settled, held her hand and told her to cry as much as she wanted. I didn't consider it weak to grieve over the death of your parents._

This is all I picture when her name is called. "Annie Cresta!" There she is, dark hair flowing and a frame petite enough to break with the slightest of impacts. I falter as reality seeps in and a feeling of helplessness engulfs me. Why her? Of all people, why her?

The crowd cheer as their tribute emerges from the crowd and walks towards the platform, with her head held courageously high but her hands trembling by her sides. She is beautiful, even more so than the last time I saw her.

It has been about eight years since her father died at sea, making the girl about seventeen, only a year younger than myself. Too young for anyone to die. No! Inwardly, I chastise myself, refusing to submit to defeat before the Games have even started. She avoids my stare as she takes her place on the platform and her rival is drawn. Jimmy Thorne.

A boy of around twelve emerges from the cheering citizens of District 4, his cheeks void of colour and his eyes filled with conflicting emotions. The faces before me are not the faces of killers. It's at this moment where I vow to keep their lives for as long as I possibly can.

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><p>"<em>Thank you," whispered a voice. I turned to see little Annie, holding an object wrapped in brown paper.<em>

"_For what?"_

"_For yesterday. For holding my hand." _

_I shrugged. "You were sad." _

_She watched me with an intense look. "I got you this." She held out the package and let the wrappings fall to reveal a fish-shaped loaf of green-tinted bread. _

_We sit on the steps of the Justice Building and share the bread between us._

"Hello," her voice is gentle, peaceful.

My head snaps up and I meet her gaze for the first time since the Reaping. Dinner on the train had been mostly quiet with the occasional comment from myself or Ivonne Zellweger, District 4's escort. Most people have retired to their apartments, but I stay awake, unable to sleep through nightmares of vivid and colourful death.

"Hello, Annie."

She sits opposite me at the now clear dining table. Her hair is damp and clings to her face and she watches me with a sort of intensity, a look I am so familiar with. I don't even question her being awake at what must be way past midnight. No tribute ever sleeps the night after the Reaping. "What's it like, killing someone?"

Her question is sudden and takes me by surprise. I pause, turning my face away from her. During my Games, I was ruthless. I killed without hesitation. It was clear from when I first entered that arena that I was capable of ending a life; only the other Careers were able to throw a spear like me. And when that trident came, I was unstoppable.

Annie watches me carefully, studying my reaction. Pain touches my eyes as I recall the death of a boy, not unlike Jimmy, by my hands during the 65th Hunger Games. I was a killer, yes, but I was also haunted.

"Do you think you can murder someone?" Annie seems taken aback by my question.

"Well, I'll have to, won't I?"

"You could kill someone out of self-defence, I'm sure. But could you seek someone out who, for example is completely defenceless, and take their life? _Murder_ them?"

She looks at me strangely, calculating her answer. "No. I can't even imagine what it'd be like to have another's blood on my hands. To be the cause of the death of a child with a family and a future," she stops shorts, her voice cracking. "Don't let me become a monster."

The urge to reach across the table and clasp her trembling hands is overwhelming; I want to hold her and tell her everything will be alright. But I gave up the right to the former two years ago, and the latter would be a lie.

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><p><em>The day after my thirteenth birthday, I was sitting on the docks, waiting for my father to come home. In my hands rested a piece of rope I had retrieved from one of the posts. Absent-mindedly, I was threading it into knots and tugging it free again. Thread, twist, tie, tug, repeat. I looked up and found Annie, watching me curiously from the top of the pier. <em>

"_What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the rope between my fingers._

"_Passing time," I replied with a shrug. _

_She smiled, shaking her head before plucking the rope from my grasp. My protests fell short when I watched as her able fingers constructed knots I had only dreamt of mastering. "You're not very good, are you?" she said matter-of-factly. _

_Annie dropped the rope into my outstretched hands and left._

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><p>"<em>Finnick Odair!" <em>

_She was the last person to visit me before I left. She was only fourteen, but her eyes showed affection and a heart-wrenching fear that was beyond her years. She begged me to come home. To do whatever was necessary to come home. She touched my shoulder and left._

The day of their first training session. I sit in my apartment, unsure of what to do. Previously, I had been somewhat blessed with the selection of my tributes. Careers, usually. It was easy to mentor them, what with their lust for blood and destruction. It was easy to tell them to go straight for the kill, no questions asked. Despite Jimmy's determination to really fulfil the shoes of District 4's Career tribute, his physique lacked in strength and bulk and his aim was rather poor.

I tell them to avoid other tributes and fend for themselves.

That night, there's a knock on my apartment door. I let Annie in with strong reluctance; being alone with her is difficult and I don't trust myself to keep away from her.

She stands by the window, watching me watching her. "I think I'm going to die soon, Finnick."

The silence hurts my ears. I step forwards, suppressing the urge to embrace her and soothe her fears. I reply with a steady voice. "I won't let that happen."

She closes the distance between us and touches my shoulder.

"No matter what, Annie," I say, urgency creeping into my voice. "I will bring you home."

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><p><em>It wasn't until a year after I returned from the Games that I really got to see Annie again. She was different at first: distant, aloof. I told her I kept my promise – I did whatever I could to come home. Even if it meant becoming a killer.<em>

_We met at the seaside a week before my sixteenth birthday. The cold water enveloped me, cooling me with its salty fingers as it pressed against my face and body. I resurfaced, spurting water from my lips and revelling in its freedom. _

_Annie appeared beside me, her wet hair clinging to her face and her eyes alight with joy. She swam towards me, resting her hands on my shoulders. I waited for words to come out of her open mouth, but instead I heard a cackle of laughter as she immersed my head in the sea, taking me by surprise and filling my sinuses with saltwater. _

_I resurfaced, spluttering, taking deep gulps of air, trying to regain my breath. She seemed completely unfazed by my near death and instead threw her head back and laughed. It was a beautiful laugh._

_We sat on the beach until the moon appeared. I spoke to her plainly; of my nightmares, of my guilt. Of the pain I felt on Victory Tour when having to stare into the face of the family whose child I had murdered. She held me, smoothed back my hair and wiped away my tears. She told me it was over and that I never had to think about it again._

Annie emerges from the private session with the Gamemakers and scores a 5. A perfect score for a tribute who has been instructed to run and hide. No one will seek her out when tributes with 8s and 9s still roam.

I lie in bed dreading the next day. My mind buzzes with uncomfortable thoughts, vivid pictures: the build up to an inevitable stretch of unrest and nightmares. How to say good bye to Annie Cresta. Was it possible? At that moment, I cave. I make my way to her room in a state of instability, emotions threatening to spill. She opens the door as if she's expecting me.

My hands find her face and I pull her towards me, burying my face in her hair and inhaling. No words are spoken. She clings to me, unable to give in to tears at first. I press my lips to her forehead, her cheek, her nose, her eyelids. Annie steadies my head between her hands and kisses me. She kisses me like she will never kiss again. In a few moments, she slumps against me, her body racking with sobs. I lift her, lay her in bed and crawl in beside her. I hold her, smooth back her hair and wipe away her tears. I tell her soon it will be over and she'll never have to think about it again.

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><p><em>My sixteenth birthday brought with it the end of any aspirations for happiness. One day many years before that one, I had thought to myself: Annie Cresta will be my wife. Instead, I became a trade thing and was used as an outlet for the insatiable lust of Capitol citizens – or, in fact, anyone who could afford me. Humiliation and vulnerability ate away at me; how could I tell Annie I loved her when my body was no longer mine to offer? I couldn't imagine how she would react if she knew the truth – hurt, betrayal, <em>disgust_?_

_Escape wasn't an option. Snow threatened me, one evening. He illustrated gruesome and sickening ways in which Annie's lifeless body could be presented to be once again. My weaknesses were well and truly exposed to Snow; for as long as I loved her, I was the President's play piece. _

_And so, I said good bye to Annie Cresta._

I wake up, kiss a sleeping Annie softly on her forehead and sneak back to my apartment. It wouldn't do anyone any good to discuss our sleeping arrangement. She appears for breakfast and we sit silently side-by-side. A few hours later, she pulls me aside.

"You lied when you told me you stopped loving me," she says. "Tell me it's true. Tell me I'm not another one of your Capitol whores." The accusation tears at my heart as it screams for her, begging my head to tell her the truth.

I kiss her, pulling her against me, never wanting to let her walk away. "I never wanted to let you go." I reply in a low voice, unable to spill my darkest secrets minutes before she leaves.

She looks at me intensely, surveying me, reading me. "Bring me home," she whispers before she walks away. And so, inwardly, I say good bye to Annie Cresta.

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><p><strong>What do you think? I might extend this from being a oneshot, and if I do it'll be their relationship after she comes out of the Games. I know it's not very focused on the whole mentormentee relationship, but I prefer the Finnick/Annie relationship. **

**Thank you for reading!**


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